


And the Nights are Long

by menel



Series: When the Day is Short [3]
Category: Justified
Genre: Episode Tag, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After hours at the Lexington Marshal’s office, Raylan has paperwork to do. </p><p>Blanket spoilers for Season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Nights are Long

**Author's Note:**

> Another coda to 5x09 Wrong Roads. (Seriously, where the fuck is Tim?)

Art is being childish, Raylan can’t help but think in the darkened office of the Marshal’s Service. The words he exchanged with his boss were the first they’d shared since he’d marched into Art’s office and demanded to be transferred. That had only been a few days ago and he still has a week and a half of vacation time left. 

He’s a little surprised that Art’s refusing to make a decision on the transfer, to even address the whole Nicky Augustine debacle. It ain’t like Art to be non-confrontational. Still, he takes it as a good sign that Art initiated the . . . conversation (no matter how hostile) that evening. It means that Art is starting to think a bit more rationally around him and that the initial rage has passed. The thank-you call from the D.E.A. probably helped, once Art came to terms with the fact Raylan (supposedly on vacation and meant to be in Florida) was doing his own thing again. Tim would say that he’s a dog with a bone, and Tim would be right. Tim is always right. It’s one of the most infuriating things about him. 

Raylan sobers a bit at the thought of Tim. It’s been two days since he spent the night at Tim’s place and he still hasn’t been able to book that flight to Florida. He’d resolved to do so when he left Tim’s apartment the following morning, but instead he’d sent some feelers out to Mexico not really expecting to get anything back. There was, however, one loud ping, so loud that Raylan couldn’t ignore Hot Rod’s crew turning up dead in Mexico in the back of a truck that he had no doubt had been used to smuggle drugs. Johnny Crowder had been among those bodies, and although Johnny had no relation to the Crowes (as far as Raylan knew), being Boyd’s last kin meant that Johnny’s dealings probably had something to do with Boyd, which linked their illegal activity back to Harlan and that was good enough for Raylan. 

He’s had a ridiculously busy day for someone on vacation. Art is right too. He’s _working_ on his vacation. (And then there’s Tim sardonically telling him in bed, “That job is your life. You’re not gonna quit.”) The biggest surprise of his day, however, wasn’t walking into Audrey’s, or listening to Roscoe talk about _King Lear_ or watching Boyd preside over the drug trade industry in Harlan. (That smartass had actually asked to be _excused_ from the table.) No, the biggest surprise had come in the aftermath of Roscoe’s shooting, when the Staties had turned up and Raylan had been giving his statement to one of the officers. Out of the blue, Tim had sidled up to him just as he was at the tail end of his statement. Raylan had felt his presence before he’d even seen the other man. Sure enough, after the officer thanked him for his time, Raylan had turned to his left and there was Tim, hands on his hips as he waited for Raylan to finish. 

They hadn’t spoken a word, just fallen into step as they’d done so many times before, as if it had been Tim on the job with him that day and they’d just successfully caught their man. As they walked back to Raylan’s car, Tim finally said, “For someone on vacation, you’re awfully busy.” 

“Something came up,” Raylan answered, circumventing any questions that Tim might have about his delayed (postponed?) Florida trip. 

“Something always does,” Tim replied evenly, just as they reached Raylan’s car. 

Raylan had given Tim a quick look. There was no censure or disapproval there, just Tim’s calm and professional presence. Tim was always like that when they were on the job, except that they _weren’t_ on the job. 

“Should I ask what you’re doing here?” Raylan had said quietly. 

“I was in the area,” Tim had replied a bit too casually, before fixing Raylan with a long look. “You don’t think I keep tabs on you?” he'd said, in an even quieter tone. 

Miller had turned up at that point, tucking away the flask from which he’d been drinking all day into an inner pocket of his jacket. 

“Tim, I’d like you to meet someone,” Raylan had said smoothly. “This is Agent Miller from the D.E.A. He’s been mighty helpful in tracking down Hot Rod and his cohorts. Miller, this is Deputy Gutterson, my partner.” 

“Kentucky’s been mighty helpful too,” Miller had replied as he’d given Tim’s hand a firm shake. “Over half these roads don’t even appear on any map. Don’t think I could’ve navigated Harlan without him.” 

“Haven’t you heard?” Tim asked, giving Raylan a sly look. “Raylan’s a Harlan boy.” 

“Born and bred,” Raylan acknowledged with the barest tip of his Stetson. 

“So, what’s next Harlan boy?” Miller said. 

“What _is_ next?” Tim echoed, and Raylan could feel the double entendre emanating from his partner. 

“Looks like I got to fill out a report.” 

“Thought you were on vacation,” Miller commented. 

Raylan shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

* * * * *

That’s precisely what Raylan is doing now, after hours at the Lexington office of the Marshal’s Service. Filing a report. On his vacation.

Raylan likes the office when it’s peaceful and quiet. He likes the bustle and energy of the office as well, but there’s something to be said for the tranquility of the after hours. He came in late so he wouldn’t have to run into people and fend off questions about what the hell he was doing there. Naturally, he forgot that Art tends to stay late too. The days when the two of them would have shared a drink from Art’s not-so-secret stash after everyone had gone seem like a lifetime ago. Raylan’s only beginning to understand that he’s probably damaged his personal relationship with Art for good. He’s sorry about that but he also knows that if given a chance to do everything over, he wouldn’t change a thing. The old saying really is true. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks and it seems that Art has given up trying. Raylan still believes that a transfer is the best solution out of their mess, despite Tim’s suggestion for him to “stick it out.” 

Every time Tim enters his thoughts, Raylan gets that slight sinking feeling in his gut. It’s called ‘guilt,’ not that he’d ever be able to admit it. He knows he’s not being fair to the other man, but neither of them knew what they were getting into when they started this . . . thing. Neither of them could’ve anticipated what it’s become, even though they don’t _talk_ about shit like that. They just let things happen and somehow it’s all seemed to work out. It’s funny that Roscoe was talking about _Lear_ earlier. Raylan isn’t a Shakespeare man by a long shot, but even his old high school made him read _Hamlet_ and in a funny way, he gets that Danish prince. His own life is in limbo right now, in a weird kind of stasis and he can’t bring himself to act. The man of action who can’t act. Except when it comes to his job. That much has always been clear to him. It explains why he’s here now, alone in the office. It explains why he’s focusing all his energy into putting away the Crowe clan, specifically Darryl and Danny. (Wendy he can probably give a pass. Kendal too.) Work is the only thing in his life that makes sense. Work and maybe . . . 

He doesn’t finish the thought. He’s amazed that Art is letting him stay on the case. (Once more, a friendly call from the D.E.A. in Tennessee didn’t hurt. Apparently, they’d specifically asked for his assistance, which was a plus.) Raylan figures he can ride out the stasis until the end of this ‘vacation.’ That gives him a week and a half to hunt down the Crowes. Then he’ll figure shit out with Art . . . and Tim . . . and his baby girl. Seems like a reasonable plan. 

“For someone who detests paperwork as much as you do, I’d have to describe this scene as ‘incongruous.’” 

“Keep talking like that and you’re gonna sound like Boyd,” Raylan answers without even glancing up. 

“Y’mean our relationship isn’t as fucked up as the one you have with him?” 

That comment does get Raylan to look up and Tim’s standing in front of his desk, hands on his hips and with that patented smirk on his face. His whiplash comment hangs in the air between them, all the undertones and unspoken questions filling up the space around them. _Did you fuck Boyd Crowder? Were you two lovers once?_ Tim would never ask and Raylan’s not gonna volunteer that information. 

“What brings you here, Deputy Gutterson?” Raylan asks instead. 

Tim cocks his head to the right. “I thought you already knew the answer to that, Deputy Givens,” he says, as he walks around Raylan’s desk, forcing Raylan to roll his chair backwards in order to make room for him. Tim perches on the edge of the table, putting Raylan’s paperwork to the side before he does so. He’s nestled himself in between Raylan’s spread legs, a provocative gesture for Tim in the office. Tim’s actions go on Raylan’s mental list of why he likes the office more after hours. 

Raylan rolls his chair forward again, so that he can rest his hands on Tim’s thighs. Tim doesn’t flinch at the gesture, his eyes calmly watching Raylan. 

“Y’know, this is one of my fantasies,” Raylan admits, hands moving upwards. 

“Bending me over your desk?” 

“Or sucking you off on my desk,” Raylan suggests. “Your pick.” He’s almost at Tim’s fly when a hand reaches out and stops him. 

“You’d prefer something else?” 

“There are cameras.” 

“They’re out in the hallway.” 

“This place ain’t exactly private.” 

“There’s no one here.” 

“Anyone can just walk in.” 

“I repeat, there’s no one here. Art’s gone home. Who else do you expect to turn up?” 

“That’s not the point.” 

Raylan is hit by an astoundingly bad idea. “We could move to Art’s office,” he suggests. “There’s a couch.” 

“If you think that’s remotely sexy –” 

“Or the conference room,” Raylan continues. 

“You really have a one-track mind,” Tim comments, the amusement evident in his voice. 

“You’re the one presenting yourself to me _on my desk_ ,” Raylan counters. 

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” 

The question makes Raylan grin and he leans back in his chair, really taking a good look at Tim. He’s about to say something else but he’s prevented from doing so by another voice that takes them both by surprise. 

“What are you two powwowing about at this hour?” 

Rachel’s voice cuts through their playful banter like a knife and the simultaneous precision of their movements in reaction to her appearance is almost unnerving. Raylan subtly rolls his chair out further at the same moment that Tim eases himself off the desk, shifting from his perch into a more casual leaning figure. 

“Trying to get Mr. Vacation here to actually _go_ on vacation,” Tim answers. 

“Why? What’s he doing instead?” Rachel queries, heading to her desk. 

“Paperwork, it looks like.” 

Rachel has begun opening drawers and rummaging around her well-organized desk. She pauses her search and looks at Raylan. “You working a case?” 

Raylan shrugs a reply. 

“Does Art know about this?” 

“Relax, Rachel,” Raylan assures her. “Art gave me his blessing.” At Rachel’s dubious look, Raylan continues. “It’s an official assist from the D.E.A. in Tennessee,” he explains. “Art knows all about it.” 

“Even met his D.E.A. partner this afternoon,” Tim vouches. “Agent Miller, was it?” 

“Yeah, Miller was quite a character,” Raylan admits. “Turns out Hot Rod was his C.I.” 

“No shit,” Tim says in genuine surprise. 

“Yeah.” 

“Was?” Rachel repeats. 

“Hot Rod was killed earlier today,” Raylan tells her. “Shot by one of his own men. Didn’t go down without a fight though. Still managed to kill the shooter with a pencil through his neck.” 

Rachel shakes her head. “Why are your vacation days more interesting than our work days?” 

“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” Tim adds. 

Raylan simply shrugs off both their responses. 

“Raylan,” Rachel says seriously. “Don’t forget to call if you need back-up. That’s what we’re here for.” Her seriousness evaporates a moment later as she pulls out a gift-wrapped object. “Knew it was here,” she says triumphantly. At their questioning looks, she adds, “Birthday gift for my nephew. Thought I had it in the car, but apparently I was wrong. It’s his birthday tomorrow.” 

“Give him our best then,” Raylan tells her. 

Rachel smiles as she heads for the door. “Raylan,” she says just as she’s about to open it. “I mean it about that back-up. Trouble finds you like nobody’s business.” 

“You don’t have to baby-sit me, Rachel,” Raylan answers. “Tim’s doing that just fine.” 

“Good night, you two.” 

“Good night, Rachel,” Tim replies. 

Tim is standing up now, arms crossed as he throws Raylan an _I-told-you-so look_. Raylan shakes his head in response. That had been close. 

“You had dinner?” Tim asks suddenly. 

“Are you my mother as well as my baby-sitter?” Raylan says good-naturedly. 

“Neither,” Tim shoots back. “I’m your boyfriend and I’m starved.” 

Raylan should be surprised by Tim’s use of the term ‘boyfriend.’ It’s the first time either of them has called the other that. Raylan _should_ be surprised, but he’s not. In fact, the word sits well with him. It has a stability to it that’s comforting, as though Tim is a solid presence in his life. He likes that idea. 

“You craving anything?” he asks in return. 

Tim looks thoughtful. “Ribs,” he says at last.

* * * * *

Much later that night, limbs heavy and his ass a little sore from two rounds of sex (so yeah, maybe Tim was a little frustrated with him and chose to take it out during sex – Raylan’s not complaining), Raylan finds himself back in Tim’s bed with the other man dozing beside him. He can’t quite sleep and when Tim rolls over, his left arm automatically wraps around the other man.

“Your thinky thoughts are distracting,” Tim says sleepily into his side. 

“It’s nothing,” Raylan replies automatically. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Tim doesn’t sound at all convinced. 

“You’ll get the Crowes, Raylan,” Tim says after a while. “Idiots that like are bound to slip up sooner or later and you’ll be there to catch ‘em. It’s what we do.” 

“The Crowes are working with Boyd,” Raylan replies. “You should’ve seen that little gathering earlier. Read like the phone book of Harlan County’s drug trade with everyone on speed dial.” 

Tim’s gone quiet and a little tense, which is what usually happens when Boyd’s name comes up in a conversation that’s not taking place during official work hours. “Eventually you’ll get Boyd too,” he says at last. 

“Oh, I’m countin’ on it,” Raylan tells him. 

“But that’s not what you’re thinking about, is it?” 

Raylan’s silence is answer enough. 

“Jesus, Raylan. Spit it out. I really wanna sleep.” 

“It’s Miller.” 

“What about him?” 

“Watching him with Hot Rod today in Hot Rod’s last moments. They had a real partnership there. A real friendship. I almost felt like an intruder.” 

Raylan doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t say that he thought he saw a glimpse into his own future, a sad world where his closest friend might end up being one of his own C.I.s. He doesn’t tell Tim that he and Miller clicked because in many ways they were the same kind of man – willing to shoot first, maybe talk later, old-fashioned in how they went about their business, married to their jobs, estranged from their families. Raylan doesn’t know if life can be any different and he’s back to the _Hamlet_ dilemma again. Damn that Danish prince. 

“You ever read _Hamlet_?” he says into the darkened bedroom. 

“If you start quoting Shakespeare . . .” Tim says threateningly. 

“It’s a good story.” 

“It’s a fucking tragedy.” 

“That’s what I meant.” 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

>  _Justified_ belongs to FX, Graham Yost and Elmore Leonard. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
